


Fulsom County Blues

by bashert



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Post "Contempt", post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 00:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2712200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bashert/pseuds/bashert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The pictures of MacKenzie were the first things he put up when it looked suddenly like his little stint in jail was not going to be so little after all.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fulsom County Blues

**Author's Note:**

> This is all ehc6j's fault. This came out of a conversation about Will's time in prison, and him hanging up pictures of Mac on his wall, and she said that his new cellmate looked pretty creepy, and then this happened. It was almost out of my control. The title is from Johnny Cash, of course, because I could.

The first time his new roommate made a comment, Will brushed it off.

The pictures of MacKenzie were the first things he put up when it looked suddenly like his little stint in jail was not going to be so little after all. Even if he was stuck between these godforsaken cement walls, he wanted her smile to be the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes and the first thing he saw when he opened them again.

Will was very aware of the fact that his wife was an extremely attractive woman. She turned heads nearly everywhere they went, and he was usually quite proud of the fact that he had somehow enscorcled such a beautiful woman (and, although Mac cleaned up well, he still thought she was the most stunning while they were alone, together, when she rolled toward him in bed, her hair tousled and her eye lids heavy, a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. Her voice husky and warm with sleep, telling him softly, "I love you, Will. I love you so much.")

He had been prepared for some comments about her that skirted the boundaries of decency.

So he ignored the low whistle of his cell mate when he hung her picture up (it was a picture of her he loved, she was laughing at something Don was saying, her eyes crinkling at the corners), he even ignored the "damn. That's a fine piece of ass." Because he was above that, and also because Larry, the worst, period, roommate, period, ever, period, was _right_ (not that Will would ever be stupid enough to say that out loud).

"That your woman?" Larry asked, his tone impressed. 

"That's my wife," Will corrected. "I don't own her, she's her own person, so no, that's not _my_ woman. That is, however, my wife." Larry's eyes narrowed, but he didn't make any other kind of comment.

(What Larry was in for, Will didn't know and had no designs on finding out. He just wanted to walk out of there and straight into his wife's arms. He had a list of everything he wanted and needed and it contained one single entry: MacKenzie.)

The silence didn't last long. The comments started coming more often, becoming cruder as Will ignored them. Comments about Mac's body turned into speculation on her skills in bed, and finally Will snapped.

"That's my wife, you know," he said. "You could show a little more respect."

It was a miscalculation for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that Will was a notorious prisoner, and also not all that well liked ("You could walk out of here at any time," Larry had said, but there was no awe at Will's sacrifice in the name of journalistic integrity, mostly an overwhelming sense that Will was entitled. That he was playing at being a prisoner in a way that no one else was. That all he had to do was say the word and he could walk free. Or, more accurately, say the name and he could walk free).

Will had no allies in the prison, no one to have his back when he decided to defend Mac's honor (and he could practically hear his wife's voice scolding him, "Billy! Don't be an idiot!" She had told him again and again, every time she came to visit, to keep his head down and keep a low profile. She was going to be so damn pissed at him).

It escalated rapidly after the first punch was thrown (not by him, _for the record_. It was going to be of little consolation to Mac, but at the very least he could claim that he had not struck first).

He ended up with a black eye, a bloody nose, and a stint in solitary for his troubles, the worst of the punishment being that he missed visiting hours with MacKenzie (those visits kept him going, kept him from calling up the DOJ and telling them the source's name, because _God_ did he want to go home. He wanted to curl up behind his new wife in their half finished apartment and breathe the sight and smell of her in).

When he finally saw Mac, his nose and eye were both still swollen and she sucked in a sharp breath.

"Oh God, Billy," she breathed out

"It looks worse than it is," he tried, and Mac's fingers darted out to touch his face before a guard yelled out to keep her distance, and she pulled back as if burned, her lovely mouth turning into a deep frown.

"What the fuck happened?" She asked, and he shrugged. Her eyes narrowed. "What. The. Fuck. Happened?"

"I got into a fight."

"Yeah, I'm not blind, I can see that. Who started it? What happened?" Mac was in full investigative journalist mode, and he sighed and explained what happened (although there was no way on God's green earth that he would be coerced into repeating the exact phrase that had caused his blood pressure to skyrocket).

When he finished it was Mac's turn to sigh, rubbing at her temples.

"You're an _idiot_!" She exploded.

"I was defending your honor!" He yelled back, and then was rewarded with the guard yelling,

"Settle down, inmate!" Which reminded him once again how much he would rather be fighting with MacKenzie at home, or at work, or really _anywhere_ that wasn't here.

"You're an idiot," she repeated in a resigned voice, and he realized it wasn't investigative journalist Mac that he was dealing with, but a new entity that he had never encountered before: Mrs. MacKenzie McAvoy, concerned wife.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "It just...the things he was saying about you."

"I don't give two shits what someone says about me," she exclaimed. "I care about _you_. Your safety. That's the only thing that matters. That's the _only_ thing I care about. You have to be careful, Will. You _have_ to." Her voice was tinged with desperation, and he wished that he could have reached across the table and pulled her into his arms. If someone had asked him, right at that moment, to give up the name of the source, he might have done so. Just to be able to hold her.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I'll be careful."

In a watery voice, his beautiful wife replied, "You have to."

He couldn't stand the look on her face. He couldn't stand that he had put it there. When it was time to leave (and that time always came way too fast), Mac gripped his hand painfully tight and repeated,

"Will, _please,_ just stay safe. Don't do anything stupid."

When he returned back to his bunk, Larry made another incendiary comment, and Will's hands clenched into fists at his side, but he swallowed hard and ignored it, instead laying down on his bed and focusing on the picture of MacKenzie, and telling himself that this couldn't last forever. 


End file.
